


and in this old horror show (i've got to let you know)

by callunavulgari



Series: ooh laura (you're more than a superstar) [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Laura Hale, Alpha Laura Hale, M/M, Resurrection, Rough Sex, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2018-01-21 05:24:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1539284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callunavulgari/pseuds/callunavulgari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time that Laura snaps an order and both he and Derek go for it, they end up smacking into each other and snarling until she doubles back and swats them both across the head. It’s instinct, okay? He’s been Laura’s since she bit him. Obviously. But they’ve been pack for years — he’s had years to get used to being her second. The instincts have been building since he convinced her to bite Scott, since he sprung her loose from a hunter torture chamber, since he stepped between her and her crazy uncle, fully prepared to die for his alpha. She’s spent nearly every day for the last three years at his side and this Derek thing is fucking with his instincts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and in this old horror show (i've got to let you know)

**Author's Note:**

> Why can't I Derek/Stiles/Laura?! This is the second time (in the same series no less) that I have set out to achieve delicious wolfy threesomes and been thwarted. Last time it was because their relationship felt too platonic. This time it's because Stiles and Derek wanted to bang in a cave. Oh well. Third times the charm, right?

The first time Stiles saw Derek Hale, he lost his lunch all over the floor. That’ll happen when you trip over half of a dead body.  
  
The second time doesn’t go much better.  
  
He’s weirdly cagey about her getting too close to the grave, even though it makes no sense. She’s seen it before — once, when she buried the first half of his body the day after she’d bitten Stiles, and second, when the county had surrendered the rest of it. She’d buried both halves of her brother’s body when it was in far worse shape, so Stiles has absolutely no reason to be so adamant that she not see the body.   
  
Not that there’s much of a body left. Derek hadn’t been buried in a casket, hadn’t gone through the whole embalming process, so when Scott and Stiles dig him up, he’s barely more than bone and cartilage. It’s still not pleasant, painstakingly making sure all the bones are accounted for, and while the smell is manageable, it’s still strong enough to make him feel sick.  
  
“We doing this, yet?” Lydia asks, drumming her nails against one arm. They’re painted a pale yellow that matches her sundress perfectly. It’s such a Lydia thing to do that, wearing a sundress to a resurrection ritual. When he’d picked her up earlier with Scott, he’d taken one look at her and burst into laughter.  
  
“Yeah,” Stiles breathes, biting down on his knuckles as he takes one final look. The book had been pretty vague on assembling the body, so he has no clue what’s going to happen to the bits of Derek that already decayed. Hopefully, they grow back pretty. He doesn’t want to think about what Laura would do to him if he raised her brother as a glorified zombie.   
  
He nods one last time and climbs out of the grave. At the bottom, Derek’s skeleton has been carefully laid out so that it looks exactly like the replica hanging in every science classroom around the country. Laura joins him when he’s out, linking their hands without a second thought. He gives it a reassuring squeeze.  
  
“Yeah, let’s do this.”  
  
.  
  
What he never considered when he first sat Laura down and told her that he might have found a way to bring her brother back is how incredibly awkward it might be. He hadn’t really concerned himself with what Derek might be like, as a person. All he knew was that even with Cora coming back, Laura still mourned her brother, more than the rest of her family combined.  
  
He figures that it’s because unlike the rest of her family, Laura feels personally responsible for the death of Derek. It wasn’t her fault and it never will be, but Stiles can tell her that until he’s blue in the face and she’ll never believe it. Not really.   
  
So when he’d found the ritual, he’d thought all about Laura’s happiness, sappy dreams of having an alpha without the constant undercurrent of misery that she tried so hard to hide blooming to life in his mind. He’d gone to her after talking everything over with Lydia, spending night after night huddled in Lydia’s room and going over every aspect of the ritual until they were sure they could get it right.  
  
His mind had been on Laura and rightfully so. He’d never considered the person that he was bringing back to life.  
  
Derek is, first and foremost, a complete asshole.   
  
He’s also stupidly gorgeous, sarcastic in a hilarious way, and the smile that had spread across his face when he’d crawled out of the grave and seen his sister again had made Stiles heart flip-flop tellingly in his chest. Laura had been too distracted at the time to notice, but Scott had, sending Stiles a funny look that meant he was doing a really bad job at hiding his sudden desire to climb all that like a tree.   
  
He’d tried harder after that.  
  
But it isn’t even that Derek’s attractive _or_ that he's a total asshole that makes thing awkward. That, Stiles could deal with. He’s nineteen years old and between Lydia and Laura, is used to inappropriate boners sprouting up when he’s faced with the perfection that is beautiful but deadly things. And all things considered, if he’s being completely honest with himself, Derek isn’t the only one who’s an asshole.   
  
The problem is that he’s not used to another wolf thinking that they're Laura’s second.  
  
It’s awkward and terrible, that’s what it is. The first time that Laura snaps an order and both he and Derek go for it, they end up smacking into each other and snarling until she doubles back and swats them both across the head. It’s instinct, okay? He’s been Laura’s since she bit him. _Obviously_. But they’ve been pack for years — he’s had years to get used to being her second. The instincts have been building since he convinced her to bite Scott, since he sprung her loose from a hunter torture chamber, since he stepped between her and her crazy uncle, fully prepared to die for his alpha. She’s spent nearly every day for the last three years at his side and this Derek thing is fucking with his instincts.  
  
It would be better if he couldn’t sympathize with Derek, but he really can. The dude grew up with her. They spent their childhood knowing that Laura would one day be the alpha, knowing that Derek would probably end up as her second. Then they had six years between the fire and Derek dying to cement that bond — six years where they were all each other had.   
  
So he gets it, he does, but convincing that part of him that is _all_ wolf to back down and submit to a beta who he’s never met is another thing entirely.  
  
“Look, this obviously isn’t working,” he tells Derek the night that they both get themselves kidnapped by something huge and scaly that is no doubt planning on eating them because they couldn’t sort out their instincts for five fucking seconds. He has every faith that Laura’s going to come for them. But if him and Derek would have sorted this whole thing out weeks ago, she wouldn’t need to rescue them, because they would have been doing their jobs as her head betas.  
  
When Derek just glowers at him, Stiles throws his hands in the air and huffs. “Don’t even give me that look, buddy-boy. We need to sort our shit out already before it gets someone killed.”  
  
A low, sub-vocal growl fills the cave. It makes the hair on the back of Stiles’ neck stand on end. It shouldn’t, because it’s just Derek, not the monster come back to eat them, but it really does. “What exactly do you want me to do about that?” Derek growls back at him waspishly, eyes glinting blue and challenging in the dark.  
  
 _Back down, you fucking dumbass_ , he’s saying with his eyes. _Submit or eat shit._  
  
Only Stiles has never been very good at backing down when faced with something. The only person that he’s ever _truly_ submitted to is Laura, and even with her it’s touch and go sometimes. The fact that Laura’s bitchy little brother wants him to just flop over and show his belly? It _itches_.   
  
So he does the mature thing, baring his teeth and flashing his eyes right back. “I want us to have a nice conversation,” he says through gritted teeth, backhanding the urge to lunge at Derek to the back of his head. “And I want us to discuss this problem like rational, logical creatures of the night. Hell, maybe if we work together instead of butting heads, we’ll even come up with a solution.”  
  
Derek still looks like he wants to eat Stiles for breakfast and his eyes are still turned up to a hundred, but at least he’s not growling anymore. They sit in silence, glowering at each other. The section of cave that they’re in is small enough that even pressed up against opposite sides of the walls, their knees are still touching. That itches too. He’s used to pack cuddles, and the urge to bite a pack member for touching him is strange and unfamiliar.  
  
“Fine,” Derek bites out just as the silence growing between them starts to become unbearable, a sour expression on his face. “What do you suggest?”  
  
“Teamwork,” Stiles says instantly. Without even looking, he holds up a hand, cutting off Derek’s protests. “The pack is already a team, right? But we’re… I don’t know, the quarterbacks. Big, important roles to play. But when the quarterbacks are too busy fighting each other, do you really think the team’s gonna score a goal?”  
  
“You’re comparing this to _football?_ ” Derek asks incredulously, shifting an inch closer, like he’s tempted to slam Stiles back against something repeatedly, and not in the fun way.   
  
“Yes, I am,” Stiles hisses, claws biting into his pants.  
  
“Your stupid little analogy doesn’t even make sense!” Derek shouts, leaning even further into Stiles’ space. It’s a dumb fucking move, one used specifically to try to get him back down, and it’s not going to work. Derek’s teeth are practically grinding together as Stiles mirrors the move, and they’re too fucking close now, every single instinct insisting that if he doesn’t go for the throat first, he’s gonna get his own torn out. “There’s only one quarterback on a team, dumbass!”  
  
Stiles falters. Shit. He should have gone with a different metaphor. “My point still stands, _Derek_ ,” he growls, recovering quickly, spitting out Derek’s name like a curse. “You can’t have in-fighting within the team or everyone’s fucked!”  
  
They shouldn’t be shouting when there’s a creature that could come back any minute to get itself some werewolf stew, but Derek is so fucking _infuriating_. “And how are we supposed to fix that?” Derek roars, right in his face. It’s gross and Stiles is pretty sure he gets spat on a little bit, but it doesn’t matter, because something is building between them and when it snaps he’s pretty sure that there’s going to be bloodshed.  
  
“We work together, genius!” he screams back and there it is — there’s the snap, like something tangible in the air between them.  
  
He’s half shifted and already braced for impact when Derek springs, slamming him back against the wall so hard that if he were human, he’d probably have a concussion. Derek’s got one hand around his neck, hoisting him up so that Stiles is completely off the ground. It’s about as disorienting as the rage coursing through his veins. He snarls, snapping his teeth an inch away from Derek’s pretty fucking face and scrambles against the wall, pushing into the hold Derek’s got on his neck even as his feet scrabble for purchase. When they don’t find any, Stiles does the next best thing, sinking his claws into Derek’s biceps as he wraps his legs around the other man’s waist.  
  
Derek lets out a noise that’s half surprise, half outrage, and Stiles is twisting up and out of the grip on his throat with such force that it knocks Derek off balance. They land in a heap on the ground, Stiles’ legs still tangled around Derek’s waist, ass firmly planted in the other werewolf’s lap. His position affords him enough leverage to get a hand into Derek’s stupid hair, _yanking_ back so that the man’s throat is _right there_ — perfect and pale and bared just for him, the perfect space for his teeth.  
  
They both freeze when Stiles’ fangs close around his adam’s apple. He feels it when Derek swallows, throat working, helpless. The hand in Derek’s hair goes slack, but Stiles doesn’t move, fangs just shy of breaking skin. Derek doesn’t move either, frozen statue still against him. Stiles is breathing heavy — they both are — and when he swallows, his tongue brushes against the skin of Derek’s throat. The urge to bite down is still there, but now Stiles is very aware of the fact that he also wants to get his lips on Derek’s throat too. He wants to lick it, more than just a brush this time; wants to suck bruises into that neck and watch them heal.   
  
He’s also suddenly very aware of just how hard his cock is, straining against his jeans, and, unless he is very mistaken, there’s an answering hardness grinding into his ass.  
  
Slowly, carefully, he allows his jaw to relax, until he’s just barely holding on, and then, deliberately, licks a line up Derek’s throat.   
  
Derek shudders against him, a quiet whine making it past his lips. And that’s all the encouragement Stiles needs. They surge together, and it’s easy, it’s like fighting with him — hard and fast and mindnumbingly hot.  
  
Derek bites down on his lip, hard enough to draw blood, and Stiles just gasps, rocking down into him.   
  
“You’re still infuriating,” Derek growls as he pops the button of Stiles’ jeans off all together, getting a hand down his pants and around his cock. Stiles’ breath catches in his throat, unthinkingly clawing four jagged marks down Derek’s shoulderblades, and chuckling when Derek hisses.   
  
“Right back ‘atcha, bucko,” he laughs, twisting his hips up into Derek’s fist.  
  
.  
  
When Laura finds them three hours later, she wrinkles her nose at them and just gives them this long, _deliberate_ look.  
  
“Don’t say a fucking word,” Stiles tells her, squinting up at her over Derek’s shoulder.  
  
Derek waits until she leaves before he laughs at him. Stiles punches him hard in the shoulder, thinking about how that area of skin had Stiles’ claws embedded into it not that long ago, holding on as Derek stroked them off together.  
  
“I brought you back into this world, buddy,” he warns. “Don’t think I can’t take you out of it again.”  
  
Derek snorts, pointedly nuzzling into the line of his throat. Stiles doesn’t do anything other than tip his head back to give him better access, which is telling in and out of itself. The way Derek trails his lips up to Stiles’ ear is excruciating, and he wonders if it’s worth the effort to say fuck it and just have round two right here and now.  
  
“Please,” Derek whispers, voice low and raspy, lips dragging against his earlobe. “Why kill me when there’s a bed at home just begging to be broken in?”  
  
“You’re evil,” Stiles moans. Derek just laughs.


End file.
